wicked wings
by falterth
Summary: "Pfft. They'll be running for their lives when I get out there," the Cadet says, and smiles in a way he probably thinks is wild or handsome. Instead it is cute. You like it very much.


**AN:** finally uploading this from ao3. male hunter. mild spoilers! takes place during the cathar 6* questline, leading up to the quest "wicked wings" given by the grand guru. kushala daora were harmed in the making of this fic.

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You don't really get it until you're about to leave on a hunt with the Ace Cadet and he asks you where you want to crash after the hunt is over. You stare at him. Say my place. Of course it's your place. Watch him nod. Fail to interpret the look he gives you. Leave on the hunt.

The realization comes, as they often do, at an inconvenient time. You're desperately throwing yourself onto the ground trying to put out the fire that caught on your armor. You roll, see a patch of water, hear the Ace Cadet scream something unintelligible. You have just enough clarity to think _I love this idiot_ and you're flinging yourself at the water, making sure every flame is extinguished. You don't dwell on it. You just launch back into the fight and pray the Rathian hasn't seriously maimed him while you were burning alive.

This Rathian, a nasty piece of work the Guild's been trying to subdue for about a year now, falls to a blow from your greatsword. It's pretty mangled. Not really an opportunity to harvest materials. You and the Ace Cadet leave the Primal Forest and go home and get cleaned up and as you're lying on your bed facing the ceiling, him on the floor flipping through a copy of Hunter's Life, you think_ do I love him_?

You turn your head. The Cadet has a messy stack of magazines at his elbow, though it more closely resembles a pile. He's lying on his stomach, turning pages absently. Checking out what other hunters are wearing. He hums every so often, a broken tune that never goes anywhere.

Yes. You love him.

Most people would move onto the next step, to tell him how you feel and hope he feels the same, but you are not an urgent kind of creature. Instead you stare at the side of his head until he notices you.

"What're you looking at?" he asks. "Is there something on my head?"

"Thinking about how many magazines I have in my house before I met you and after I met you," you reply absently. You go back to staring at the ceiling. It's a neutral, if boring, ground. Nobody will blame you for looking at the ceiling.

"You can leave if you don't like it," the Cadet says. You sigh. Do the other Ace Hunters put up with this on a daily basis?

"I guess I'll have to," you say, reaching for a blanket at the end of your bed and pull it up to your chin. "Wake me up if you're going to the gathering hall for food."

He hums. It's an agreement.

He wakes you up via arm punch and after you shake yourself the rest of the way awake the two of you amble down to the gathering hall, occasionally jostling each other. You're close enough to touch by the time you get past the doors. As usual, the hall is so full hunters are practically spilling from its seams. They're coming and going every few minutes, sitting down for a quick meal and wolfing it down before bolting through the doors. It's that time of year again. Traffic is high, and everyone wants to try their hand at the more difficult quests hoping to prove their worth to the Guild.

You've done it before. It's grueling but at the same time it's one of the most rewarding things you've ever participated in.

It's hard to find a seat in the crowd and doubly harder to keep one. You eventually find a spot, though, and you pull the Cadet down so hard he knocks into the person on the next stool.

"Oops," you say. The look the Cadet gives you suggests he's aware you're not actually sorry. "I don't care what I have as long as there's meat. Go crazy. Meal's on me."

"Oh, man, I hope you don't regret that," the Ace Cadet says. He calls one of the Felyne chefs over and starts to make his order, gesturing wildly toward the platters situated in front of other hunters. He's going to rack up so many food expenses. You're glad you're not short on money right now.

He finishes ordering—somehow in the span of five minutes he has narrowly avoided at least two altercations with the chefs—and you pay the fee. Your sack of coins is a pitiful, deflated thing compared to its former glory.

You eat as quickly as you can. With as many people pouring in and out of the gathering hall as there are, it's the polite thing to free up a seat as soon as you can. You give the hunters eating on the floor a sympathetic eye. You'll be gone soon enough. Just . . . you don't have the heart to tell the Cadet he's being too slow.

So you finish your food a full ten minutes before he does and you spend the rest of the time alternating between pretending not to stare at his face and engaging in small talk with the hunters around you.

"This is my favorite hall for many reasons," a hunter to your left impresses. He's got grease dribbling down his face, but you won't point it out. "You know the idiot who climbed onto the Dah'ren Mohran in his underwear? I heard he comes here."

"Ha ha," you say sourly. "Actually—"

"'M drn hr let'sh gh hrm," the Ace Cadet says, breaking into your conversation—thank fuck, you were just about to embarrass yourself—and forcing your brain to work overtime trying to translate his words. The Cadet is visibly struggling with his mouthful of food. It's endearing.

"I'm done here let's go home?" you ask.

"That's what I just said," the Cadet says when he's managed to get it all down. "Sometimes you are really bad at listening."

"True," you agree, and let him pull you up and drag you out of the hall even though you're perfectly capable of doing so on your own.

"It's dark," the Cadet whines after you've escaped the heat and density of the gathering hall and the cool air hits your face and you sigh and let go of his hand. "I wanted to take a walk."

"What are you, five?" you ask. "You can walk in the dark."

"But it's not as pretty," the Cadet says. It's a point you have to acknowledge.

"Get up early tomorrow and take a walk. Now go home, rest, the sooner you fall asleep the sooner you'll get to tomorrow," you urge. "I need to pack up for my trip to Cathar."

The Cadet stops dead and you only just avoid crashing into him. "Cathar? Uh, why are you going to Cathar?"

"Grand Guru wanted to talk to me about . . . uh . . . something? I'm not really sure. He was kind of vague in his letter but it sounded urgent so I'm catching an airship tomorrow. I'll probably be there for a month," you say.

"You didn't tell me?" the Cadet asks. His lower lip wobbles closer and closer to a pout.

"Sorry," you mutter. "Too occupied with the hunt to remember."

"I'm sure there's room in your airship cabin for two," the Cadet states, and you stare at him for a moment until you get it.

"Why are you coming?" you ask.

"Why wouldn't I come?" the Cadet says. "I've never been to Cathar but I hear the food there is great and the monsters at Heaven's Mount are, like, out of this world and—"

"Okay, okay," you laugh, shoving your hand over his mouth to stop him before he really starts. You only remove it once you're absolutely sure he won't keep jabbering. "Yes, there'll be room for you, but you're paying if they think you should. Don't get yourself killed on Heaven's Mount, okay? That's all I want."

"Pfft. They'll be running for their lives when I get out there," the Cadet says, and smiles in a way he probably thinks is wild or handsome. Instead it is cute. You like it very much. "Right. I'm gonna go pack. Wake up early enough to go on a walk! Don't forget!"

And he's tearing off into the dark in the direction of the place he shares with the other Ace Hunters.

"IT IS MORNING!" the Ace Cadet announces loudly from outside your house, and he keeps saying it until you can't ignore him anymore.

You open your eyes. Glare at the ceiling. Move that glare to the window. It's morning. Barely. But you haul yourself up out of bed and unlock your door and let him and his belongings spill into your home, his few boxes onto the floor and himself onto your bed. His eyes are sleepy, face slack and jaw tense like he's trying not to yawn. He has an impressive bed head.

You reach out and run your hand through his hair.

"Comb that mess," you tell him, and work on getting your boxes and bags all in one place. "Is this look what you want to present to the people of Cathar?"

The Cadet is silent, hands working through his hair in calm attempt to smooth it all out. You should be moving your luggage outside but instead you watch him. He works out tangle after tangle with nothing but his fingers; you have to envy him. When he finishes he looks up at you, almost like he's asking for your approval.

You try to say something but you can't seem to find your voice.

"You okay?" the Cadet asks.

"Sleepy," you say, and remember him pulling you out of your seat and into the street, stars swimming above your head, the cry of Remobra in the cold desert air. "Let's go for a walk."

The Cadet rubs his eyes. "I'm so tired. Help me up?"

"I'm worried for your prospects in the future if you can't even get up out of bed," you say instead of crossing the room and taking his outstretched arm. He pouts at you but you are strong.

"Fine," he says when he realizes he can't win, and heaves himself up out of your bed.

You go on a walk.

It's quiet for the most part. The two of you are content to listen to the sounds of early-morning hunting parties returning from quests, the sounds of merchants setting up their stalls, the chattering of Felynes running to and fro across the tops of buildings. You think briefly on your Ace Palico; he's off at Sunsnug Isle overseeing some expansions.

You and the Cadet inhale a quick breakfast at the gathering hall. Inside the building is sleepy just like the two of you, guildmarms putting up daily notices with quiet stumbling footsteps and muttered apologies. The gathering hall is spreading its wings now, preparing to become the version of itself you are most familiar with: the stifling, crowded building whose air hangs with laughter and the scent of drink.

Your feet paint a wandering, aimless trail across most of Val Habar until you take a look at the sky and at the airship port and nudge the Cadet and tell him to go back home so you can flag down a guild employee to help with loading your equipment onto the ship.

He wants to stick around but you would rather not have him underfoot—full of energy and he's got a strong back but he is definitely not someone who would help in an organized effort—so you're forced to herd him back to your house, hands on his back pushing him because suddenly, inexplicably, he doesn't seem to have the energy to just pick up his own damn feet and walk himself back. He hems and haws and protests and you focus on the warmth of your fingers against the rough cloth of his shirt and endure his complaints with patience.

You think about yesterday and staring at the ceiling trying not to look at him again and yes, you love him.

It's about half an hour until all your belongings are packed and you've said your temporary farewells to the rest of the Capital C and the Ace Hunters. Your feet take you home toward the Ace Cadet and you open the door gently. You wonder if he's sleeping, if the walk relaxed him instead of energizing him like you supposed it would.

He is awake, thumbing through a copy of Hunter's Life Magazine you haven't seen before. This one will join your unwilling collection along with all the others he has piled up.

"We're ready to leave," you tell him, and he snaps to attention. His face is soft and unguarded, something to be treasured. You treasure it. Think you'll always remember this, the open door behind your back and the magazines on the floor and the Cadet's wide trusting eyes. School your expression so it's not as affectionate as you feel. Turn around. "Come on. Let's get you to Cathar."

Since the Cadet is hell-bent on exploring every single nook and cranny of the airship—it's almost like he's never been aboard one—you use the free time to sleep. The moments you're awake are short. Blinking your eyes open to dim light, cabin empty, scratchy blankets piled high on top of your body. Coming to awareness slowly, yawning, and going back to sleep. Waking and feeling a weight on the end of the bed and cracking an eye open just far enough to see orange hair and closing your eyes again knowing you're safe.

Cathar comes quickly. It's the wind on your cheeks, your cold-numb fingers from carrying boxes off the ship, a warmth in your chest that flickers to life when the Ace Cadet jabbers your ear off about an alleged Seregios sighting in the area.

The moment your things are all situated in the temporary house the Grand Guru always lets you use, the Cadet begs to go on a tour of Heaven's Mount.

"After I speak to the Grand Guru," you say. "Who knows? He might send us out on a quest."

"Oh, I didn't even think about that!" the Cadet says. "Okay, man. You go and get your quest. I'm gonna unpack our stuff."

"My things go on the big bed," you remind him, and duck out the door. You stop outside for just a moment and let yourself breathe through the rush of affection that swamps you.

When you finally manage to calm yourself, you begin the walk toward the Grand Guru's house—or, really, the smiling youth you'd met in the fields who lives just a short distance away. No need to cross the rickety bridge; you know where he'll be.

You knock on his door and he opens it. He's fresh-faced and handsome, the same man you had a puppy-crush on when you first landed in Cathar. He smiles. You smile back.

"What's up?" you ask.

"You hunt elder dragons, right?" the Grand Guru asks, ushering you into his home and forcing you down into a soft armchair. He takes a place on a well-worn couch opposite of you.

"Um, what? Yeah, but you don't—"

"Yes, I do, don't play dumb," the Guru says, and you laugh helplessly. "You knew I was going to ask something like this the moment you got my letter. We've saved up quite a bit of money for—"

"No," you say. "I won't take money for something like this. Elder dragon? You're in a real pickle, then, and I don't mean the kind that kills hunters on a regular basis. It would feel wrong to accept money for defending Cathar . . . again."

"You're amazing," the Guru breathes. He stops, looks at you hesitantly, gathers himself. You wait for him to speak. "My brother has started to send me letters about a Kushala Daora hiding up in the Frozen Seaway near here, which explains why we've been having so many ice storms lately. You're lucky your landing was as smooth as it is, by the way. You caught us in between storms. Anyway—he says it'll come this way next, and our Dragonseers agree. It needs to be gone. My village can't handle another catastrophe so soon after the situation with the Sanctuary. Everyone's on edge."

"I've got it. Give me a few days to prepare, and me and my—oh, I brought backup, or rather, he wouldn't let me go without him, haha . . . " you trail off. The Guru gives you a knowing look and you splutter. "It's—we're not—okay maybe I'm—oh, forget it, whatever you're angling at you're not going to get it. We'll be ready to leave in five days, if that's okay."

"More than okay," the Grand Guru says, slumping back into the couch. "Thank you so much. You can have whatever you need here—food, supplies—take it for free. I don't know how to repay you."

"Your friendship is more than enough," you reply. "Now. Enough with the emotional bonding. I'll get my stuff ready—you have a village to run, don't you?"

"It's not nearly as hard as your job," the Grand Guru says, and extends his hand. You shake it. "Thank you, again. And be careful. The last time a Kushala Daora came this way . . . Cathar was torn nearly to the ground. Please be careful."

"I will," you say, and get up. "I'm glad you contacted me."

"Don't make it sound so formal," the Grand Guru laughs, though he looks a little pale and if you focus closely you can see his hand shaking as he reaches for the mug of tea on the low table in front of the couch. "I'll get worried."

You let yourself out.

You get home two hours later than you'd meant to because a familiar face had stopped you to greet you and force some food onto you and then one by one people had come out of their homes to say hello, hunter, it's been a while. You'd stood through it with a smile and a laugh because you love the people of Cathar, these old researchers, the children running around underfoot asking for you to regale them with stories, the rough hands of Wyverians whose ancestors built their homes out of rock fallen from the peaks of Heaven's Mount.

"Did he give you a quest?" the Cadet asks after you shut the door on the wind and the cold. He's sprawled out on the bed you'd specifically claimed as yours—which, honestly, you should have expected—flipping through a copy of Hunter's Life you haven't seen before. Is someone selling those here?

"Yes, and I hope to the gods you're qualified," you say, kicking your boots off and sitting down heavily next to him. You peek over his shoulder. 5 Ways To Make Mixed Armor Sets Work.

"There isn't a job in the world I can't handle," the Ace Cadet boasts.

"Even Kushala Daora?" you ask.

"E-even that," the Ace Cadet says. The smile he gives you is weak at best. "I mean, I can totally absolutely one hundred percent hunt one of those. Don't give me that look, I'm not joking! I've got this and all, but are you crazy? No—is this Guru crazy? Did they get a lunatic running this village? Why's he sending you to hunt one of those? It wasn't a joke, was it? Because, _man,_ talk about tasteless, especially after Dundorma."

"I am not joking, and don't call him a lunatic. He's a dear friend. He is sending me—us, now—out there because if we don't go to it, it will come here," you sigh. "I have no idea why there have been so many Elder Dragon sightings recently. Teostra, Dalamadur, Dah'ren Mohran . . . Fatalis . . . Let's hope they are a string of coincidences."

"You know the Ace Commander—"

"—doesn't believe in coincidences, yes," you say, and think of dozens more Elder Dragons brought in dead from various locales, victorious hunters celebrating the death of something they should never have seen in the first place. It's not just you and the Caravan as you'd believed at first when you'd started this journey—now it's other hunters, too, people like and unlike you discovering things you'd thought were just for the Capital C. You smile a little. "I hope, though it's doubtful, that he hasn't noticed."

"You know, we don't even have to tell him about this," the Cadet says, giving you a meaningful glance. You stare flatly at him. "Okay, fine, I tried. Let's talk hunting."

"What weapon will you use?" you ask, glad for the topic change.

"I have a sword and shield that applies poison like a motherfucker," the Cadet says. You grin. Like many, many other things about him, this too is cute.

"Perfect," you say instead of staring at him like an idiot, staring at him and thinking he is so, so handsome—oh, right, you're already doing that. Haha. You look away. "I will use a greatsword. Was there ever any doubt?"

"No, not really," the Cadet says. "When are we leaving?"

"I told him five days, so you can mess around in Cathar before we leave. Heaven's mount is a few hours by airship—I'd let you go on a tour, but since this hunt is important, I'm gonna have to ask you to wait 'til after we get back," you say.

"Oh, that? Sure, no prob," the Cadet says, tossing his magazine onto the floor. Maybe you'll take a look at it later. "I think we're pretty well-stocked for a fight. What I'm worried about right now, actually—"

"Food?" you guess.

"Yes, food, how'd you know?" the Ace Cadet groans, and rolls over so he's on his back, face turned toward you. You dodge a flailing arm, the product of his clumsiness and a poorly-executed rollover. "You're like, a crazy mind reader or something . . . where can we eat here? Is the food as good as it is back in Val Habar? Is it warm inside the buildings? Because if you haven't noticed, I'm kind of freezing my ass off here."

"You can light the fireplace," you say, and the Ace Cadet looks at you weird. "You . . . know how to start one of those, don't you?"

"There's a fireplace?" the Cadet asks. You point to the fireplace. "I . . . wow. I did not notice. Well, first let's eat something and then we can get this all set up. Are you hungry? I'm so hungry, please can we—"

"Yes, yes, of course we can," you laugh, and the Cadet might be freezing and the tips of your fingers might be cold but the warmth in your chest will never go away.

Dinner goes how it always does when you're eating with the Cadet. He racks up more expenses than you'd thought possible, talks loudly to whoever will listen, almost fights the chef, and finishes his food long after you've cleaned your own plate. After you finally pull him out of the little dining hall, set up whenever a hunter comes to town, you expect him to insist on a tour.

When the cold night air washes over your bare arms and face and the door to the hall is shut firmly behind you, you turn to him and he says, "Let's just go home. It's too cold to do anything."

The two of you walk down the rock-rough roads of Cathar, stones clattering here and there and wind blowing past the chimes everyone hangs on their houses. It's dark out; you see a few torches tucked into stone alcoves, flames flickering and dying but still there and still burning.

As soon as you're both into the house the Cadet kicks off his shoes and collapses into his bed. You throw a blanket at him, then another, then another until he's swamped. He mutters his thanks to you and pulls the covers over his head.

You busy yourself with the fireplace. Your hands fumble with the matches because of how cold they are but one, two, three and the kindling is lit. You wait for it to catch onto the larger pieces of wood, stare into the fire and edge closer until the chill wind bleeds from your heavy bones and when you're sure the fire will stay lit you throw another log in and go to sleep.

Three hours later the Ace Cadet shakes you awake.

"Hey, hey," he hisses. You open your eyes and try to focus on his face; it's too dark. It is definitely not morning. "I heard something outside."

"Mm," you hum, blindly reaching out for him. Your hand lands on his shoulder; you slap it, hard. "Don't wake me up, assface. It's probably a dog. Go back to sleep, nothing's coming in here."

"Sheesh, you pack a punch," the Cadet says. "And, sorry, no. It's way too big to be a dog. C'mon, don't you wanna investigate?"

"I want to sleep. Let me sleep," you say.

"Ugh." The soft, cushiony bed sags to one side; the weight of a hand falls onto your head and ruffles your hair. He's never done this before. You decide you like it, and when he takes his hand away you mourn the loss of the touch. "I'm going without you, then."

He stands up and you lay there, content, sleepy, ready to drift off into—did he say he was going alone? You scramble out of bed, fall onto the floor, get up again and stumble toward him on sleepy legs until you can reach far enough to grab the back of his shirt.

"I have to go with you," you say. The Cadet shrugs you off. He laughs; you scowl. "I shit you not if you go out there alone it's going to turn out to be a—I don't know, a Deviljho looking for food."

"How can you going prevent that?" he asks.

"If I go, it'll be something like a dog. Don't ask me how I know—I just do. Let's make this quick," you say.

"I knew you'd go with me," he says smugly. Yes, he did, and you did too.

The two of you put your shoes on, though it takes you a few tries to put the left shoe on the left foot and the right shoe on the right foot, and go outside to investigate. It's not a dog, but neither is it a Deviljho. It is a gaggle of Ioprey, and though you have both handled tougher monsters in the past, it's some ungodly hour in the morning and nobody will be amused if you slaughter a bunch of bird wyverns all over the marketplace.

So you and the Cadet run back into your home, inquisitive little monsters snapping at your heels, and hope you haven't woken anyone.

Somehow, between the, "oh gods, let me catch my breath," and the, "wait a moment did we lock the door," and the, "your shoe's still on," and the, "ouch, what did I just step on," and the, "hey I think the fireplace went out a while ago, let me get that," and the "much better, I was beginning to wonder why it was so cold in here," the Ace Cadet tumbles into your bed with you.

You fall asleep, arms tangled with his and cheek mashed against his shoulder and blanket wrapped uncomfortably around your leg and you really, really hope this isn't just something friends do with each other.

The few days leading up to your departure to the Frozen Seaway are fast-paced and hectic.

You have your armor set ready to go, but the Cadet has been unable to decide yet. One that stays strong in the face of extreme winds? One to keep the ice out? He doesn't know. You tell him either one will work fine. He looks at you despairingly, shakes his head, and goes back to his deliberating.

In the end he decides on a third set he hadn't even mentioned when going over things with you. You don't mind. As long as it works, it is welcome on the hunt.

The airship ride to the Frozen Seaway is turbulent. You don't get any sleep, and the Ace Cadet is green in the face more often than he's not. He's pressed up against your side the majority of the time. He claims it makes his headache, motion sickness, whatever it is—he says the contact makes him feel better. The excuse is so weak it's pitiful. You sling your arm around his shoulders anyway.

The airship drops you off at base camp because the rest of the Frozen Seaway is wrapped in a storm so fierce the captain had been visibly nervous when letting you off the ship. You aren't glad for the storm but the chance to properly prepare before heading into the thick of it is definitely something worth celebrating.

You and the Cadet set up the little tent at base camp, down a couple of drinks just shy of steaming-hot, fail to open the iced-over supply box, and start your search for the Kushala Daora.

"Who thought this was a good idea?" the Cadet asks.

"Thought what was a good idea?" you say, wobbling a little. It is so hard not to slip on the dark, glassy ice in this part of the Seaway. You and the Cadet have been skirting along the edges of the ice, for the most part, but there isn't always snow or rock to keep you steady.

"This," the Cadet says, gesturing toward their surroundings. He adjusts the straps of the pack slung over his shoulders. "Cold. Storms. Everything."

"I dunno," you say. "Hey, there's a safe point just ahead, right? Let's stow our stuff and take a look around. Got a feeling it's going to be up high."

The Cadet nods and the two of you finally, finally clear the ice. From there it's a sharp turn to the left instead of continuing into one of the many frozen caves that litter the locale. The hike uphill is arduous, and though it's cold, you've worked up a good sweat by the time the ground levels out some.

"Come on, it's right here," you say. You flex your arms a little, try to shake off some of the stiffness, and pick your bags up again.

The safe point is a cave. The entrance is a small tunnel in an otherwise smooth rock face. You crawl in first, lugging your things behind you. You're careful to mind your greatsword. It's not long before the tunnel opens up into a spacious cave. Light filters in from the icy ceiling, dim but just enough to see by. The Cadet isn't long behind you. You set your bags down, lay out various supplies on a worktable. How did they even get it in here? You won't dwell. Better to keep unpacking. The table groans ominously when you set your sword down on it.

"I did not like that sound," the Ace Cadet says.

"It'll hold," you say. Pause. Eye the table, almost a threat—don't you dare collapse or we will have problems—turn back to the Cadet. "Probably."

In the distance, you hear a screech.

"And there's our monster," the Cadet says. "Let's go."

You pack up the necessities and so does the Cadet and then you two are moving, moving, moving, toward the bellows of Popo and the very distinctive creaking-metal cry of the elder dragon you're hunting. It doesn't notice you, so focused is it on the hunt, although it could be more accurately described as a massacre.

You're filled with a unique kind of awe, equal parts admiration and fear. It's killed many monsters, no doubt. Like you. It is a dragon, and you are human, and you will kill it or die trying.

An hour passes and you are long overdue for a rest. You signal to the Ace Cadet, the sign for safe point, and he throws a flash bomb while you two book it.

Unfortunately, the Kushala Daora recovers quickly. It does not hesitate to follow you all the way back to the safe point and scream outside the cave opening, battering the tunnel with gusts of wind that have picked up so much debris they seem black. You try your best to keep out of the way of the hole in the wall but wind gets in anyway and knocks over anything you haven't secured in place, which means a lot of broken jars and wasted potions.

You sigh.

"All right there?" the Cadet asks. His face is pale, pinched, and you sigh.

"I'm fine, just bruised," you say. "I'm gonna . . . gonna eat something."

Your hands fumble with the drawstring on your item pouch—you'll probably end up pouring most of the rest of your hot water onto your hands—and it takes a few tries to fish a ration out of it. The actual eating of said ration takes even longer than getting it out had; you can't feel your face very well and it's almost impossible to get your jaw to work as it should. The cold, tough meat makes your teeth ache. You're surprised you manage to eat the whole thing, and it's only after you start to taste blood that you realize you've bitten your tongue.

Instead of focusing on the pain you turn back toward the Cadet.

His shield is gone and his sword is in dire need of sharpening; luckily, whetstones abound and he brings spares of every weapon to a hunt. His arm is still feeling numb from when the Kushala Daora chomped on it—a terrifying experience you never, ever want to see again, Cadet's face screwed up in pain and looking like his whole world was ending—so you sharpen it for him while he takes off his vambraces and checks himself over.

You silently hand his blade back to him and help him with his armor. When you put your helmet back on, hands trembling, the dent in its side is enough to make you uncomfortable.

Venturing back outside the safe point is easy, but when the Kushala Daora spots you the Frozen Seaway descends into chaos. Again. This time the elder dragon isn't at its prime—it's walking on a recently-acquired bad leg, plus your greatsword tore a nasty gash through the webbing of one of its wings—and together the two of you wear it down until it can barely move.

The Ace Cadet delivers the final blow, short sword slashing through the weakened scales on its neck.

As soon as the Kushala Daora stills you unclip a glass phial from your belt and rush forward to catch the blood spilling from it.

"You know, I poisoned it. A lot. That blood isn't pure anymore," the Cadet comments. "Um. Sorry."

"Ah. Right," you say. You tip the phial over; red-black blood spills out onto the hard-packed snow beneath your feet. "It's fine. The poison helped."

The Cadet smiles.

You focus on cutting away what you can of its wings and the Cadet pries scales, claws, and the one intact horn it has left off of its body. The work is hard and messy. Your hands are coated in layers of blood and metallic flakes. If you weren't wearing reinforced gloves your hands would have been shredded to ribbons long before this point.

The Cadet helps you with most of the material transporting while you take down the supplies you'd left at the safe point. It takes more than one trip to haul everything back; after it's all done, you're frantic to get your armor off. It's sticky with blood and slushy ice, unpleasant to the touch and incredibly cold.

After that is all done, you collapse onto the hard mattress of the base camp bed. Your clothes could really use a good washing too, and you aren't too happy about having to stay in them, but the alternative is stripping down to your underwear in below-zero temperatures.

You're drifting off, body heavy and breathing slow, and just as you think you're about to get a few minutes of precious rest the Ace Cadet clanks loudly into the tent. Moments later, he's shed his armor and is prodding experimentally at his potentially injured arm.

"Flare?" you ask tiredly.

"After I take a nap," he says. "Nothing's gonna move back in here for a while. Daora killed off . . . a lot of monsters. I took a look around."

"Mmhm," you mumble. Already your eyes are starting to close. "See you later."

And you're asleep.

"We did it," the Cadet says belatedly. "It seemed so, I dunno, easy? Like I thought it was going to be so hard even though I've hunted so much and in the end it was kind of, just, poosh! Bam! Slash! Dead." The airship rocks. His face contorts into an expression caught between nausea and irritation. "I hate turbulence."

"Who doesn't," you say, patting the top of his head sympathetically. "It was plenty hard when I think about it. Maybe it was the adrenaline."

"Maybe I'm the greatest hunter this world has ever seen," the Cadet counters. You wait for another boast, another brag, but it doesn't come. When he does speak, he's quiet. "Hey."

"Hey, what?" you say.

"Do you like me?" he asks.

"Of course I like you," you reassure him. Your stomach does a flip flop, or something inside of you tumbles around and around and makes you feel lightheaded. It's uncomfortable, but at the same time you kind of wish it would happen again. "I wouldn't take you to Cathar with me if—"

"No, no, that's not what I meant," the Cadet says.

You close your eyes and tilt your head back. The rough wood of the ship's walls is, admittedly, not the best support, but it's not the worst either. The silence that hangs in the air isn't awkward. You could stay like this forever, probably, waiting for him to talk.

"I mean," the Cadet says, struggling for words, "do you _like_ me?"

"Like you how?" you ask.

"Like . . . seriously, this is so embarrassing, why are you making me say this . . . do you like me in, like, an 'I kind of want to kiss you' way? Because—because I do," the Ace Cadet says. "Sorry, that's kind of weird, I don't know why I said this, probably 'cause you almost died fighting that Kushala Daora and I was like, what if you got snuffed out by some monster and I didn't even tell you, and there was that weird thing with the sleeping in the same bed a few days ago and I'm pretty sure people don't just randomly do that, but also you're really good in a fight and wow, sorry, I'm rambling _so_ hard right now—"

"Yes," you say. "Yes, I do."

"Wow. Wow," the Cadet says. He sounds out of breath. You glance at him. He looks zoned out. Maybe he won't notice how nervous, how lost you are. "Were you gonna tell me?"

"Probably . . . not," you confess. "So I'm glad you said something. I like you. A lot."

He looks at you, really looks at you now instead of that thousand-yard stare he'd been wearing a second ago. You look at him. He's really very handsome. You feel out of your depth. This is uncharted territory, something you've never experienced before. You wonder if it's all right to feel a little scared.

"This is the part where people usually kiss," the Cadet offers helpfully. "Unless you don't want to, which I totally understand except I really d—"

You kiss him. It's nothing more than a brief press of your lips to his, your hand coming up to cradle the back of his head. Even so, it is good. The Cadet relaxes against you. Had he been tense? You didn't notice. When you draw back, uncertain, unsteady, he smiles. Kisses you again, and you are so in love.


End file.
